


Bleeding

by DreamsOfInk



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: ABANDONED WORK (for now), Election loss, F/M, Feedback Wanted!, Finished, Love, Mentions of metaphorical violence, Passion, Recovery, Romance, Sexual Content, US Elections 2016, my first fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsOfInk/pseuds/DreamsOfInk
Summary: I have felt this before.Dreamt it, felt it, yearned for it, fought for it, mocked for it, and suffered for it.Now I am but a lost soul in search of heaven.UPDATE: This work has been abandoned. See latest chapter update for details.





	1. Concession

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I have been lurking around the fandom and reading other people's stories for what feels like forever, but I have finally found the time and courage to cough up a little story of my own.  
> Feedback is much appreciated, but please don't be too rough, I've only just turned 14 years old. :)  
> Anyways, enjoy, and if enough people like it I will write more chapters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_I have felt this before._

_Dreamt it, felt it, yearned for it, fought for it, mocked for it, and suffered for it._

_Now I am but a lost soul in search of heaven._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9th November 2016

_The whole world has come to see me die._

Despite herself, she quivers savagely.

And here she sits, already dying for her love of America. Darkly lined blue eyes, flickering in agony, washed over with waves of salt, squeezed from her inner workings and wiped away by her quaking hand. Skin hot, searing with remorse, words caught upon the dryness of her tongue and the unnerving prickle up the back of her neck. Inside, she flusters with emptiness.

_Yet I am not the one to be pitied._

Bill eyes her movements. Slow and dignified to comfort her loss, wrinkling fingers pulling through the strands of her short blonde hair, lips pursing, biting each other. He knows she cannot refuse this concession speech. To refuse is to sacrifice yourself, to put a bullet through your heart in the name of America, to let the rest of humanity see her cower on her knees, screams of seething rage like the ones of the election night. Flesh soft and silken like her neatly combed hair, now easily scarred, easy to let those who live only to revile her take hold of a sharpened cleaving knife and slice at her honour.

She lifts her head from her wet palms. Gaze burning, right at him. His glasses moist and his body too, pushing out its wretched disappointment, the multiple heaves of his chest crackling his gasps.

“Hillary? Bill? It is time now.”

She shudders at Huma’s voice, palms balling into fists as she forces herself not to look away at the opening of the backstage door.

Before she wills it, Bill stands up, large hand held out for hers. She gives him a look, already twitching with nerve as his arm is flung over her shoulder. Shadowy walls lined with aides and staff, light coming only in from the stage where Hillary could already hear them chatter, pens poised at the ready to record her dedications, phones out by their outstretched tendons.

She looks at herself, listening to the smooth feeling of her black trousersuit as she fiddles with it.

“I look like a widow.” Hillary grimaces as he turns to her at her utterance.

Her perfumed body is swathed in silks, lined with regal purple, diamonds held clasped at her neck and hanging from her ears.

“You look like a queen. America’s rightful queen.”

Without a damn care for the many around them, he takes her by the waist, pressing against her breasts and womanly hips, quickly pinning her to the wall. She stays there, looking up it him, lip trembling. Heated exhalations lingering, his powerful hands running down her cheeks, scraping away even the dried molecules of tears.

_Forever my President._

Sniffing yet smiling at the realisation of their earthly existences, they both lean in for a kiss, mouths pressed together. Tongues touching, his saliva sliding over her tongue in an effort to rid her of her dryness. Lips clamping themselves together, holding each other like they have done so past forty one years, pushing each other forward, living through each other's experiences, and the things they never dreamed they would wade out of still happily together. Small kisses planted, as the staffers watch in a strange trance of entertainment, lips, cheeks, forehead, chin, each worshiped in adoration, her body his for even just a few minutes, longing for his passionate touches again that make her pool in her own desire, sweat sticking to the loose wisps of her hair and replacing the lines of tears that were tattooed upon her in an ode to America’s failure.

_You can never feel real love in a dream._

But two entwined souls will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her emotions flutter, in a self-prayer of hope.

Another step up the dais that she’d never dreamed she’d take. Like a fallen noblewoman to the axe, a martyr to the fire, her face is a mask of sovereign honour, of bravery in her final moment before death. She hears them applause at her entrance. It rushes past her. Peals of clapping, a last joyous celebration.

_Shall I die without justice?_

Then she remembers her moment with her Billy, his immortal love glowing out, naked for the prying glares and roaring snarls of the American people.

_Thank you._

Hillary breathes, both in and out of her broken spirit.

Without restraint, she releases herself into the morning air.


	2. Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback/constructive criticism wanted, please! :)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Deep down I must have always known_

_That this would be inevitable_

_To earn my stripes, I'd have to pay_

_And bare my soul_

_\- Adele, 'Million Years Ago'_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8th November 2016 – Election Night

Her whole evening spent, cowering around, clawing at her face. Emptiness overtakes her, consumes her, runs throughout her, forces her upon her knees in a cruel kind of mockery. Bleeding insides forcing blood up her throat, spitting up the bile of defeat, envy and hatred daring her further. Fingers now claws, nails tearing into her own bodily temple, knees bruised blue, another scar at her belly. Once glittering blue orbs now pebbles darkened with a lust for mercy, mercy, mercy.

_They make fools out of women like you._

She knows it is the truth.

_Nevertheless, she persisted._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10th November 2016

He cradles her like a newborn infant.

Not another woman on God’s great earth rests like her. Skin pale and drained of blood, dusky nipples rising at her heavy breaths underneath her rippling silver gown, limbs tangled and limping and her toes that peek outwards in dainty points. Her face, motionless, pure, filled with childhood innocence as his sniffs and shuddering rasps fill the dimly lit bedroom.

_Dead._

There is no other way to describe her.

And here she lies in peace as he rocks her to an eternal sleep. A crown of America, upon her head, both a glory and a burden. But not a crown of gold for her, but a crown of thorns, forged from fragile glass, cracked at the strength of the barbed wreath that snakes around it, razor edges a torture to her, drawing her blood in everlasting drops that fall that stain her dove white complexion crimson.

He sees it so clearly, with its blood that sticks not only to him, but to her remaining days on this earthly journey.

_Never a crown for a woman in a man's job._

Bill reaches downwards to his sleeping wife, nuzzling her. Supporting her head and running his thumb along it, he leaves the tingles of his ministrations in his wake, only to settle deep in her dreams - the dreams of their White House days all over again, freely running in the dewy grassland with their dogs, sitting over the mahogany furniture in the Blue Room. Waltzing upon the stage, cherishing gazes refusing to break even with the cameras fixated upon them, in their tailored cuts of wealth and jewels sewn into their garments, only for all their rivals to envy. Long gone are the days of throes of youthful passion, dripping sexes interlocked upon the desk in the Oval Office, hands digging into the sheets at the bed, sobbing in euphoria after a tedious day of briefings.

He made those wedding vows forty one years ago. Now he will make another:

_I will never let them destroy you._

He cannot manage it. No heart can tell, no mind can think of what he means to say to her, the words that have stayed within him for all these years, beaten up and battered by others as they are. Yet still they persist with his life, forever aching to roll out of his tongue.

 _I love you_.

No more of that. That shall never be enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading.


	3. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Last two chapters have been heavily updated (again!), so please check them out if you haven't already.  
> Thanks for all the lovely support, and please enjoy this chapter! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk we took, in that rain

That chaste kiss we stole, under the umbrella

All to give myself up to another

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11th November 2016

Chappaqua Woods

Bill had left her behind to sleep only a few hours earlier.

His elderly muscles weakened with every second he supported her. Tears caught in his sore eyes, falling down to her, over the scar from their daughter’s birth he would caress and fuss over in their hours of lovemaking, and the cut done by her own hands in mere silence, with only a set of gritted teeth as its price. His melting drips mixed with hers and the scent of her blood - their faint marks memories of her pointed nails held to herself, forever etched into her and never to fade away. 

Home. Hillary. Rocked tenderly to her quick escape, granted her mercy she'd pleaded for on bended knee, frozen to the bone, bitter with despondence. Wrapped in her sheets and cloths, the very ones he’d make her laugh, make her wail on, soft blankets blessed with his strong heart that cushion her soul in her two phases of life and death.

_Death is her only shroud._

This long lane of water, trickling water running and raving over the mossy rocks and pebbles, clear cool streams they’d seen together at this very spot. Sycamore trees hanging over, branches bare, stripped down to mere existence with him as they too had watched the couple in this forest; languorous kisses shared between them, underneath the storms of the evening hours, protected by umbrella he now holds, the feeling of her palm still clutching his.

_Oh, my God. Don’t do this to me. I possess not even the energy to beg._

Yet there stands a seventy year old gentleman, alone as he cries in the woods.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stands in the doorway, slumped at the side by the hinges. His wife's barely moving figure tucked up in the way he had left her, without a single blink or sign of life except the dog that curls at her corpse, moist nose slid against hers in a notion of care. Half cleansed by Bill's salivating puckers, almost robed for burial in her taught bed sheets.

_Feel nothing for her. To the forces of the universe, she is nothing. Nothing but a figurine, a bait for mortality, with the same lusts as anyone. As foolish as the rest of you, craving until it kills her._

Not a single damn word can make it past his searing lump as his confidence falters. His hand outstretches, then his arms, until he finds himself wrapping himself around her, warming her, always with her, even if she will never feel it again.

_Goodnight, Hilly._

Flowers. Lilies picked from beside the creek, blooming even in this biting winter. Placed by her, blossoming stark whites by her shut eyelids, a single fallen petal sitting on her forehead.

**_With each part of me, each thought, each dream, each hope, I love you._ **

His own lament, his dirge for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Jerusalem, our happy home_

_When shall we come to thee?_

_When shall our sorrows have an end?_

_Thy joys when shall we see?_

\- Anuna, ‘Jerusalem’


	4. Please read: Update

Please Read:  
I have been struggling with this work. I have lost motivation for it and now I feel as if I need a clean slate for it as my writing has wildly improved since I began writing this fic. It is for these reasons that I will either be abandoning this work or restarting it completely in a new work, depending on whether or not my motivation to write returns.

\- Thanks


	5. Consideration

Hey everyone!

So for a while, I've been considering coming back to this work and I've been wondering about how re-approach this. I feel sort of guilty for abandoning this work as a lot of people seem to enjoy my poetic style (which has since vastly improved). After some thought, I have since decided to re-write this fic, but it is very much in the works right now so don't expect anything *too* soon. Luckily, my school term finishes in about a week and a half, so then I will have plenty of time to write.

Due to organisation and continuity reasons, when I get it finished it will be posted as a separate work. However, I will not be deleting this work, so anyone who wants to read this version will be able to.

Hopefully, you guys will look forward to and enjoy the improved edition. My only concern is that not enough people will read/like it, and I think that was partly why I closed this fic in the first place. Maybe I'm just too harsh a critic of myself, idk :/

Again, thank you for all of your wonderful comments and kudos, they really mean the world to me.

\- Dreams 

x

(Perversions Chapter 2 is coming along well, btw)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> :)


End file.
